


Too Far, Too Fast

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Aziraphale wants to reach out to Crowley, but he doesn't know how to.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81
Collections: Verb Roulette





	Too Far, Too Fast

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: _to stretch_.

It would be so easy.

Crowley was right there, barely more than an arm's reach away, talking about something - ducks, perhaps, it always seemed to come back to ducks - and all Aziraphale would have to do was lean over, stretch out his arm, and-

And what? That was the question, wasn't it? It always was. It always had been. Aziraphale had spent so many centuries longing to reach out, and he'd never been able to. He'd known he couldn't, not while they were still on different sides. And he'd never imagined there would be a day when they weren't, so he'd tried not to think about it. He'd never formulated any sort of plan.

Now, with the world unended, with the world upended, he had the choice he'd never had before. He could reach out to Crowley, and…

Crowley startled at the gentle touch on his shoulder. They both stared at his outstretched arm in bewilderment.

"Angel?"

He was waiting for Aziraphale to explain himself, but Aziraphale couldn't; he didn't know what he thought he could achieve by a simple touch, a desperate, futile gesture. He just wanted to be close, somehow, close to Crowley in ways he could never have dreamed would be possible. He wanted to be close, but his hand had reached out of its own accord, without his instruction, and everything was moving too fast, his thoughts were racing too fast, he was _going too fast-_

"Aziraphale. What's wrong?" Crowley stepped away from his hand, circled closer and peered anxiously into his eyes. "Breathe, angel. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just tell me what it is, and I'll, I'll handle it." He paused for a moment. "Is it me? It's me, isn't it, I did something-"

"No!" If Crowley started panicking now, he might apologise and retreat and _go away,_ and that was the last thing Aziraphale wanted. "No, it's- it's just- I can't, my mind is racing and I can't keep up."

"It's OK." Crowley was moving away again, just out of reach. "It's OK. We'll slow down-"

"No, I don't- that's not-" He gave up, frustrated. If only he could catch up to himself, if only he could slow the rest of the world down somehow-

_Crowley can._ The thought hit him out of nowhere. _And if Crowley can, demons can. If demons can, angels can, and if angels can…_

"I can," he murmured to himself, and took a very deep breath.

As he let it out again, he focused on the moment, this precious moment spent with Crowley, imagining it as something small and malleable, like… like an unwrapped toffee. He pictured a force working at each end, pulling at it until the moment stretched out of shape, time slowing until it looked as if the air had turned to treacle, every movement slow and elongated. All of a sudden, Aziraphale had time. Time to work out what he wanted, time to get it.

“Angel,” Crowley was saying, voice distorted by time’s altered shape, and Aziraphale looked at him, really looked at him, drinking him in as if he’d never truly seen him before. He was beautiful, he was _Aziraphale’s_ , he was the demon who had loved him patiently for so long that Aziraphale didn’t even remember when he’d started. And Aziraphale’s heart beat faster, and Aziraphale’s thoughts raced, and Crowley was finally moving slowly. Slowly enough for Aziraphale to keep up with, slowly enough that he could think before he acted. Without Crowley’s usual frenetic, anxious movement to contend with, all he had to do was keep pace with his own thoughts.

He wanted Crowley. He’d known that for years. He was free to touch Crowley; that was new. He wanted… he wanted to _kiss_ Crowley. He just had no idea how to do that. He’d never- it had never- well, he’d just never tried that before. He wasn’t quite sure how to line their faces up so their noses wouldn’t bump, how to keep his shaking hands from bruising Crowley’s cheeks, how to stop their teeth from clashing. He reached out, his movements careful and deliberate in this moment of stillness, and took Crowley’s sunglasses so he could look the demon right in those enchanting eyes of his.

“Crowley,” he murmured, and time snapped back into place.

“What do you need?” Crowley asked, as he always did, as he always would. Aziraphale only ever had to ask - only ever had to _hint_ \- and Crowley would give him anything he could.

“Kiss me?” he managed, and Crowley’s golden eyes went wide.

“Angel-”

“Kiss me,” he repeated, firmer now, certain of what he wanted. Crowley reached out, slow, uncertain; long arms stretched out across the gap and gentle hands cradled his face.

“You sure?” The demon’s voice trembled, and Aziraphale realised he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to proceed. Crowley had done so much for him over the years, had waited patiently and offered his heart up for Aziraphale time and time again, as if it was nothing more significant than a new morsel for the angel to taste. Perhaps it was time, after all, for Aziraphale to be brave.

“You don’t want to?” He teased, and Crowley made a soft, desperate sound.

“Always- angel, I’ve _always-”_

“Well, then,” Aziraphale murmured, more to himself than to Crowley.

After all that they’d been through, closing the gap between their lips didn’t feel like such a stretch at all.


End file.
